


Afterglow

by LadyFogg



Series: Constantine Oneshots & Prompts [16]
Category: Constantine (Comic), Constantine (TV), Hellblazer
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Comfort, F/M, Feel-good, Feels, Fluff, Language, No Sex, No Smut, Touch Aversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 19:37:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFogg/pseuds/LadyFogg
Summary: After working a particularly dangerous case, you and John return to the Mill House for some much needed rest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am in love with the show Legion, and one of the things I love is how they handle the romance for the character who doesn't like being touched. And so this fic was born. The fic song is what really cemented the idea and I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Fic Song - https://play.spotify.com/track/1elI41rXhTSDwypFYxSN4Q

 

You don't like to be touched. Never have.

Normally when you say this to someone, one of two things happen. They look at you like you've grown an extra head, or they ask why. 

The why doesn't matter. All the matters is you don't want people touching you. Period. End of story. 

John didn't do either of these things when you told him. You were working a case and enjoying your time together. He had leaned in for a kiss, and you pulled away.

His expression was neutral when you explained, and then he smiled and said he understood. That was it. After that he never tried again, and was mindful about accidentally bumping into you or touching your hand if you didn't have gloves on.

As such, you always felt comfortable around him. Occasionally you wondered what it would be like to give him a kiss, but the repulsion of touching superseded the desire. 

You know he thinks of you romantically. You're not blind. It’s in the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, or how he sits as close as you're comfortable with. 

Even now as you creep through the underground tunnel searching the monster of the week, he's at your side, keeping as much distance as the small space allows. In one hand he carries that damn cattle prod he always wants to use, but never gets the chance. 

“So what's this thing called again?” you ask softly, your gloved hand feeling along the wall. You shine your flashlight around the tunnel.

“Beats me, love,” John says. “Just know it likes the dark and has acidic blood. Wonderful for potion or poison work, nasty for everything else.”

“Oh lovely,” you say sarcastically. “You take me to all the nice places, John.”

John chuckles. “You know me, love,” he says. “Only the best for my lass.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He's never called you that before. It makes your heart pound in your chest and your face grows hot. 

“I prefer more open spaces,” you say, trying to keep the mood light. “Someplace with soft music and good food.”

“I'll make you a nice dinner when we get back to the Mill House,” John promises as he looks down to watch his steps. 

“I said  _ good  _ food.”

“You wound me, love,” John teases. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I've tasted your cooking, John,” you say. “I'm sorry, sweetie, but it's not your strongest skill.”

John reluctantly nods and stops walking to squat and examine the cave floor. It slopes downward into a darker portion of the tunnel. “Pizza it is then,” he says. “Stop for a second. Not sure where this leads. Might be best to double back.”

You pause your steps and peer down into the dark. However, the mud beneath your feet gives way and you lose your footing. With a yell and a twist of your ankle, you go tumbling down the muddy slide. The flashlight is lost and you roll through the dark to certain doom.

It's a painful fall and you land on your knees, hands braced in a puddle of water. Your flashlight rolls to a stop, bright enough to illuminate the creature's body, bleeding out from the jagged rock it fell on. 

Wait. That means the puddle is not water. The acidic blood starts to burn and you yank away with a scream, hurrying to pull your dissolving gloves off. Knees and ankle hurting, you scramble away from the dead thing until your back hits the cave wall. 

John comes skidding down the slope. He nearly stumbles, but manages to right himself at the last second. “Love! Are you alright?” he asks, carefully picking his way around the blood puddle. 

“I'm hurt,” you say through gritted teeth. Your hands are aching. Thankfully it seems the gloves took most of the damage, except for a few spots here and there.

John makes it to you and kneels down, putting the cattle prod on the ground so he can examine your outstretched leg. “I'm going to peel your jeans up, alright, love?” he asks. 

You nod and he very carefully takes the hem of your pants and pushes them up. 

“Now I'm gonna pull down your sock so we can make sure your ankle isn't broken,” John's voice is gentle and calm, which you appreciate. 

“Go ahead,” you say.

John gingerly pulls the top of your sock down to expose your ankle. His hands avoid touching your skin completely and he pulls them away the second he can see what he needs to. He asks you to turn your foot a number of different ways before declaring, “Looks okay. A little swollen, but nothing ice won't fix.”

Getting to his feet, he offers his hand. You shake your head. “Acid burned my gloves,” you huff, trying to stand. The pain it too much and you fall back down.

“Bollocks, alright,” John says, face pensive. “Just a second.”

He undoes his tie and wraps one end around his hand, before offering you the other end. Touched by his consideration, and ingenuity, you wrap the fabric around your own hand and he pulls you to your feet. 

“Can you walk?” he asks, picking up the cattle prod.

“I think so.” You take a few practice steps and while your ankle hurts like a bitch, the pain is manageable. “Found your monster,” you say, picking up the flashlight and shining it on the dead beast. 

“Aye, seems that way,” John says, keeping his distance from the body.

It lunges suddenly and he stabs it with the cattle prod. The screams of pain hurt your ears, but the thing dies mere seconds later. 

“Hey, you got to use it!” you say.

John sighs dramatically. “Barely,” he pouts. “Was hoping to bottle the blood, but the location of the corpse will still catch a pretty penny. Come on, love. Let's get out of here.”

With the tie connecting your hands, he helps you back up the tunnel. It's very difficult, and takes nearly forty-five minutes, but eventually you make it back to where you were before. 

Even after, you don't let go of the tie. It's nice. Wearing the gloves, you still get uneasy when touching anyone. The tie however feels like you're holding hands even though you're not. 

John doesn't seem to mind it either. He also still holds on. “Come to think of it, pizza doesn't sound as appetizing,” he says, resting the cattle prod on his shoulder. “We can get something else.”

“How dare you? Pizza is  _ always  _ appetizing!” 

In the end you do settle on pizza, eating it while you’re curled up on the couches by the fire. John regales you the story of how he and Zed had hunted an invisible beast that feasted on unconscious victims, and how he got to use his cattle prod. 

“Sounds like a blast,” you say, putting your plate down. “Where is Zed by the way?”

John lights up a cigarette and shoves the lighter into his pocket. “She had some art thing this weekend,” he says, stretching his legs out onto the table. His arm falls on the back of the couch. “Can I ask you something, love?”

Here it comes. 

“Sure, what is it?” 

John takes a thoughtful drag. “How do your partners typically handle your situation?” he asks.

It's an innocent enough question, yet the answer tells him two things: do you do relationships and how have they treated you. 

“Some okay. Others not so much,” you say, stretching your legs out to mirror him. “People used to tell me it was a phase, or if I met the right person I'd change my mind. Neither of those things have happened yet. And even if it is a phase, what does it fucking matter? I don't like to be touched, and I don't want sex. It should just be as simple as that.”

“Yeah well, people are arseholes, love,” John says, cigarette dangling from his lips. 

You snort with amusement, reaching down to adjust the ice pack secured to your ankle. “Yeah they are,” you say. “In their eyes you can't have a relationship without sex. It's fucking annoying.”

John considers your words and takes another drag. “They're missing out,” he smiles, nudging your foot with his. 

Again you find yourself blushing and your eyes are drawn to his hand on the couch next to you. Just as you consider holding it, he moves and the opportunity is lost. 

Maybe next time.

You retire to bed some time later, exhausted and sore. Even after all that you’ve been through in the last few hours, you find it difficult to sleep. The Mill House makes many strange noises and after the night you had, you're on edge. 

About an hour of tossing and turning, you get out of bed and grab your body pillow. Your socks muffle your footsteps as you walk to John's room. The door is open a crack, so you let yourself in. 

He's on his stomach, sprawled across the bed, sleeping soundly. You take a moment to admire his peaceful face, but he must sense you there because he shifts and opens his bleary eyes. 

“Hi,” you smile. 

“Everythin’ alright, love?” he asks, passing a hand over his sleepy face. 

“Yeah. Couldn't sleep. Move over,” you say. 

John shifts to one side of the beds. You place the body pillow in the middle to separate you, before laying down on top of the blankets. 

Once you're comfortable, John pulls up the comforter over you both. “How are your legs?” he asks.

“Took aspirin so they're only slightly sore,” you say. You pause for a moment, trying to think of how to voice your thoughts. “John, I want to thank you.”

“For what, love?”

“Respecting me,” you say. “Touch is a big thing for people. It never has been for me. And I don't imagine it will.”

“Everyone has their boundaries, love,” John says. “Think nothing of it.”

“No, but it's a big deal,” you explain. “When you say you don't like being touched, or don't like or feel the need for sex, people look at you like you're crazy.”

“I may not understand the aversion to sex,” John says. “Because I think it's bloody fantastic with the right person. But that don't mean I'm gonna pressure you into somethin’ you don't like. That's what wanking is for.” You wrinkle your nose and John laughs. “Besides, there are other ways you can be intimate with someone that doesn't involve sex.”

You cuddle up to one side of the body pillow, while he does the same to the other. Even with the closer proximity, you're still comfortable. The lack of anxiety is a relief. 

“I feel the same way,” you say. “And if that's really how you feel, I'm willing to give us a try.” Self-doubt suddenly hits you and you hastily add, “If-If that's something you want, that is.”

John contemplates your offer. His eyes are searching yours, probably trying to determine if you’re sure about what you’re saying. He must conclude that you are because he smiles and carefully reaches over the pillow. He doesn't touch you, but his hand hovers over your cheek, stroking the air. “Aye, I think we could give it a go.”

You smile back and he withdraws. With a yawn, his hand falls to the pillow and he shifts to get comfortable. Inevitably his eyes drift close. Still, you find it hard to do the same. In fact, you're suddenly more wide awake than before, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. 

John seems to be settling back into sleep, his breathing evening out almost immediately. Your eyes are drawn to his hand, and you suddenly feel that urge from before to hold it. The familiar feeling of repulsion rears its ugly head, but you decide to push through it this time.

Slowly, you lift your hand and, after a moment of hesitation, gently place it on top of John's. Your heart rate spikes, and your brain is telling you to pull away, but after a second, it passes. 

John opens his eyes, staring at your hand for a moment, before lifting his gaze to meet yours questioningly. 

The repulsion eventually fades and you're left with your bare hand on John's, and a feeling of accomplishment. His hand is warm, and his fingers twitch when you slowly curl yours around them. He follows your lead and does the same.

John's breathing hitches and he smiles. You smile back and run the pad of your thumb along the ridges of his hand. Tentatively he leans forward, and his lips brush your knuckles in a small kiss.

It would be nice to kiss him, you think. Nothing major. Just a peck. It's a startling desire that you weren't expecting, mostly because the thought sounds nice, not gross. Curious, you scoot closer, until your forehead is almost touching his. 

“Love,” John says, swallowing thickly as you lean in further. “You don't have to.”

“Shut up, I want to,” you say, and very gently touch your lips to his.

He freezes, and you both lay motionless, lips pressed together. A second passes, and then John moves just a bit. It spurs you to do the same. And even though your mouths remain closed, you feel a flood of warmth and contentment. 

However, it becomes overwhelming very quickly and you draw away from the kiss. Reading the tension in your face and body, John slides his hand out from under yours and breaks all contact, giving you space. He's looking at you with wide eyes, surprised yet pleased, and even a little proud. 

“That was nice,” you say. 

“Aye,” John agrees. “Was that your first, love?”

“First I enjoyed,” you say. 

John looks proud of himself now and gives you a wide smile. You remain that way for some time, smiling at each other while you process what just happened. 

“We should get some sleep,” he says after a while. “It's been a long night.”

You put some more space between you as you try to get comfortable. “Goodnight, John,” you say. “Thanks again.”

His smile softens and he blows you a kiss. “No, love,” he says. “Thank  _ you _ .”

Still smiling, you both drift off to sleep.

 


End file.
